


of vanity and of freedom

by hyugesoo



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, Basically, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dying Will Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Everyone Has Issues, Female Sawada Tsunayoshi, Flame Lore (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Gen, Hyper Intuition (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Pre-Canon, Sawada Nana's A+ Parenting, Sky Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Smart Sawada Tsunayoshi, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trust Issues, read the tags pls, that girl has a strong survival sense y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyugesoo/pseuds/hyugesoo
Summary: In one world, Sawada Tsunayoshi is born to a man with bloodstained fingers and a woman with rose-tinted glasses.In this world, Sawada Tsunako is born a girl with pretty eyes and an even prettier face, even if her parents stay the same.This changes everything.(Or, Nana is just a little bit... off.)
Relationships: Sawada Iemitsu & Sawada Tsunayoshi, Sawada Nana & Sawada Tsunayoshi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 544
Collections: There are no words for this beauty





	of vanity and of freedom

_Sawada Tsunako._

月夏

_(tsuki | natsu)_

_(moon | summer)_

She is named after the moon and the summer season; when her mother finally holds her after hours of labor, the first thing Nana sees is the incandescent curve of her cheeks like the light of the new moon and the golden-pale lashes clumping with healthy tears. The next thing Nana notices is the chocolate brown eyes of her daughter, so similar to her own and yet so different. There are shades of orange flickering in those deep eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors that remind her of a sunset over the flickering summer ocean.

Nana names her for her beauty and her warmth, and as her daughter wails and cries, a part of her cries with her.

Tsunako is the prettiest baby she’s ever seen, and Nana knows all about the struggles of a beautiful girl.

After all, Nana has always been praised for being a beauty, and now she has given birth to another, alone. She only hopes her daughter won’t lead a half-empty life like her, waiting and waiting and waiting for her soul, for the man she married that spends months out of reach.

Holding her sniffling baby close, she bends her neck and murmurs a prayer, a plea, an invocation.

“My little Tsunako, my little summer moon.”

Her heart weeps, and her smile wavers at the small life held tenderly between her breasts.

( ~~A daughter, _ohgod_ , why a daughter, she should be a boy, a son-~~)

* * *

Tsunako grows quietly, like the phases of the moon that swim in the night sky. Her hair falls around her in soft blonde waves that glitter under the sun, like golden snow. Her skin remains as light as the moon, drawing attention to her shapely doe eyes. Everything, from the high, aristocratic cheekbones, to the lines of her pink lips, to the dainty ( _delicate, oh so delicate_ ) wrists, everything brings a quiet, roiling dread to Nana.

Even as Tsunako ages, from infant to toddler, all Nana can see is the beauty in her daughter. Tsunako is the perfect mix of pretty Nana and handsome Iemitsu, and Nana fears for her. Beautiful things don’t last long in a world such as theirs, and Nana sometimes has to physically stop herself from ruining Tsunako’s face before the world ruins the rest of her.

And maybe her child notices the apprehension behind her smiles, because Tsunako stays just out of grabbing reach. Nana can see her daughter peeking at her out of the corner of her sunset eyes, her tiny face solemn. Their house of two feels empty, the air stale and prickly with her forced cheer.

When Iemitsu finally visits and crows over Tsunako’s gorgeous eyes and fair skin and adorable cheeks, Nana has to bite back a scream.

_No, no no not my baby, they’ll ruin her they’ll chew her up and spit her out, drag her by the hair and paint bruises on her lovely skin, they’ll take and take and take and take from her until she’s nothing but an empty shell ( ~~like me like me, they called me beautiful all my life and now I’m empty-~~ ) _

She exhales slowly, dragging her eyes down to look at her daughter, her blood, and nearly flinches at those quiet sunset eyes.

* * *

The thing is, Nana has always been pretty. She was a pretty baby, a pretty child, a pretty adolescent, and even now, married and with a daughter, she still gets compliments on her beauty.

She has always drawn the eyes with her looks, so she knows that beauty is a double-edged sword. Because sometimes, it is not just the eyes that you draw, that follow you and drag up your body like you are _meat._ No, sometimes, there are people who will do more than just look, who will think that they deserve whatever spoils she holds within her flesh just because she is pretty.

Nana was fourteen when her senpai took her virginity while she cried and begged and screamed for him to stop. He had been courting her for months, and she, so very stupidly, had laughed it off and went on her merry way. 

When he had cornered her and taken her innocence, he had laughed in return.

From then on, she knew that beautiful things will only get hurt.

She looks at her daughter, so young, and all but glowing under the summer sky, and hides a frown.

* * *

Daycare isn’t needed, or even wanted. Nana, after all, can stay home all day to take care of Tsunako and teach her because she has no need to work, what with her husband sending her large amounts of money every month. (A part of her is screaming, raging, saying that Iemitsu is ~~a bastard, that he abandoned her, that he’s treating her as a two-bit _whore_ that he pays off~~, but she buries that side of her with a smile that is only a little strained.)

Still, she keeps her child close, even as she has to restrain herself from marring her beautiful daughter’s face. (Would her daughter live a better life than her if she was ugly? If Nana cut up her pretty cheeks and scarred her face? These dark thoughts grow even darker every day, and Nana takes to not looking at her child’s face so that she won’t be tempted. She doesn't want to _hurt_ her daughter; there will be enough people who will want to in the future.) Daycare isn’t mandatory, anyways, so she bides her time and tries to keep her child safe (or as safe as she will ever be, Nana cries, oh her poor Tsunako-) indoors, hidden and unseen.

Sometimes, she sees her child looking out the window longingly, her tiny fingers brushing against the glass. Nana stays quiet, trying desperately to keep the raging, hysterical screeches inside her chest as she lunges forward and drags her daughter away from the window. There are insidious thoughts in her head, telling her to board up the windows, to jerk the curtains shut, to hide her daughter inside her room or her closet where she’ll be safe ~~safe _safe_ -~~

But she refrains. She’s not trying to imprison her precious child, not really. She’s just sheltering her until Tsunako is older and knows better, until her daughter knows to keep her pretty little face hidden all on her own.

And whenever she can, she whispers into her daughter’s ear, cautioning her and warning her about the dangers outside. Nana might not be a fighter, might not be strong like a man, but she has spent years hardening her heart and protecting herself by wearing a mask. She will do her utmost best to ensure that her daughter can do the same.

But with only Nana and her lessons for company, Tsunako becomes even quieter, though Nana can never quite fully mourn the way that her daughter learned how to move silently and hide herself at such a young age.

Nana wishes her daughter didn’t learn that at the age of _four_ , but it’s a useful lesson, of course, how to hide and run and escape. One day, it may even save Tsunako’s life. So Nana pushes her misgivings and guilt away, and continues to teach her daughter how to blend in, how to hide, how to _survive_.

When Tsunako enters elementary school, Nana swallows the bile in her mouth and forces a smile. She loosens her harsh grip on her daughter’s small hand when she feels her nails bite into the soft skin, already apologetic and guilty for hurting her- Nana thinks that she might be the only one who will do her best not to hurt her sweet little summer moon, because she knows that beautiful things are just that, _things,_ and people always trample and ruin beautiful things- as she leads her child to the entrance of the school.

Already, there are children peeking out from behind their mother’s legs, staring at her daughter with something like awe, and the adults around them coo over Tsunako’s looks.

“What a pretty girl, Sawada-san! Your daughter really takes after you,” they titter, looking down on Nana and Tsunako both, and she knows that they see the airheaded mask she wears and the quiet air around her daughter and think that the only important thing about them is their looks.

Nana widens her smile, and on anyone else, her teeth would look sharp and dangerous. “Ara, ara, thank you, my little Tsunako really is a good child,” she deflects, before kneeling in front of her daughter who merely watches the world with those somber eyes. She fiddles with soft, shoulder-length blonde hair, before mustering up a smile. “Be good, okay, Tsu-chan, and remember to listen to your teacher!”

Solemnly, her daughter nods, and enters the school. Nana clenches her empty fists and forces herself to leave without looking back, or else she might scream. They cannot, after all, draw even more attention to themselves.

* * *

  
  


For the longest time, Tsunako thought she was hideous.

Her early years are blurry, with only one voice and one pair of arms as a constant. (Later, when she is able to walk and talk coherently, she will scour every inch of their large house and look for another person besides her and her Mama. Her storybooks and the shows she watches all tell her that a family has a mama and a papa and a baby, and she searches and searches and searches for her Papa. When she walks around the entirety of the house five times and sees no one else, her tiny heart breaks.

And when she finally meets her Papa, and says goodbye to him within the same week, and when this continues on for years and years and years, her heart breaks even more.)

Her Mama who has dull brown eyes and pretty hair looks at her sometimes, in that unnerving way that raises the hairs on the back of her neck. It makes her want to squirm away, to cover her ears and close her eyes so that she can hide from that unsettling gaze. She thinks her Mama might hate her a bit, because her Mama sometimes looks at her face and her fingers twitch like she wants to rake her nails across her cheeks.

When her Mama sleeps, Tsunako drags her small stool up to the sink and looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She trails her small fingers down the bridge of her nose, across her cheekbones, over her eyelids. She looks and looks and looks, and wonders which part exactly of her face makes her Mama want to _ruin_ and _destroy. (Cut you up like meat and slice your skin till you're bleeding,_ a voice whispers in her head, and Tsunako frowns.)

When she meets her Papa, and he calls her beautiful and pretty and gorgeous, she looks at the stricken, twisted look on her Mama’s face and nearly cries. Her Mama has never called her that before, has always used different words to describe her, like _quiet_ and _gentle_ and _good._ Her Mama always glossed over her looks, doing her utmost best to ignore the stiffness in Tsunako’s back every time her Mama reaches for her.

Her Mama has never hurt her before, never even raised a hand or her voice against her, but there is a niggling feeling in the back of her mind warning her not to enter the kitchen when her Mama is holding knives. It makes her look at her Mama with wary eyes, makes her notice how her Mama smiles too wide, too plastic. It makes her stand a few feet away from her Mama, out of reach from her hands whenever her Mama gets that spine-chilling look in her dull eyes.

And when her Papa says he has to go back to work, has to leave again, Tsunako realizes just what that feeling is.

She looks at her Mama, at the coldness in her eyes hidden behind those fake fake fake (they’re so fake, how can Papa not see that? How can Papa leave her here with that fake smile on her Mama?) smiles, and feels _fear._ She grips her Papa’s clothes, trying to keep her eyes dry, to keep the distress off her face, because what if her Mama finally grew angry enough to hurt her if she cried? So far all her Mama has done is look at her with those eyes but that can easily change.

Her Papa isn’t nearly around enough to protect her.

So Tsunako begs and begs her Papa, with her quiet voice, to stay, to not leave, to _not leave her_. And when her Papa merely apologizes and hugs her goodbye, leaving her in the too-empty house with her Mama who looks at Tsunako like there is _s ~~omething wrong with her~~_ , she has to bite down hard to keep from screaming.

* * *

  
  


“They’re going to hurt you, my little summer moon,” her Mama croons the night before she begins elementary schooling. In the dark of her room, with only a sliver of light peeking from the slit in the curtains, her Mama looks even more frightening.

She stays still, the voice in her head telling her to keep quiet, to play possum, to _not provoke careful be quiet careful_. It’s not the first time her Mama has told her this, after all. (No, the first time her Mama said this was during the wake of her Papa’s first and only visit. Her Mama had reached out, slowly, as if she had all the time in the world because Tsunako had nowhere else to go, and buried her fingers into her blonde hair.

“They’re going to hurt you, my little summer moon,” she had said then, a warning and a promise, and with every repetition of that statement, Tsunako wondered who _they_ are, and if her Mama counted herself as part of _them._ )

Her Mama continues, undaunted by her silence. “Because of how you look, they’re not going to stop until there’s nothing left of you,” her Mama says airily, eyes glazed and staring at the spot just to the right of her face. Her Mama never really wants to look at her, to see her face, and whenever her Mama gets like this, Tsunako thinks that Papa is a liar. Her Papa called her pretty, but her Mama looks at her like she’s a monster.

Soft hands reach out to brush her pale cheek, and the voice in her head starts yelling, telling her _run run run danger danger danger_. The drag of her Mama’s fingers scratches her skin lightly, and she freezes at the feel of nails on her face. Against her better judgement, she shuts her eyes tightly to stop the tears from overflowing, to childishly pretend that everything is okay.

Her Mama coos, smoothing the blankets she’s cowering under before getting up to leave. Tsunako holds her breath, trying not to draw any more attention, and she hears her Mama stop by the door. Slowly, she peeks beneath slightly damp lashes at her, and she swallows reflexively at the unnerving look on her Mama’s face.

“You’ll never escape,” her Mama whispers, something dark in her voice. “That is why you have to be good, Tsunako, to be good and _quiet._ Don’t draw any attention to yourself.”

She stays silent, and with one more sweeping look, her Mama exits the room, leaving her to try to muffle her half-hysterical pants with her palms.

* * *

  
  


Then she starts elementary school, and everyone is _staring_ at her, and all she can hear is her Mama’s voice telling her to be good, be quiet, to not draw any attention to herself. She swallows and looks down, trying to edge away and hide just like how she learned to do at home, but children still crowd around her and pull at her clothes and touch her hair and shove their faces against hers.

Tsunako is wary, and even when the teacher tells them to get settled, to sit down, she doesn’t quite relax. _They’ll hurt you_ , her Mama’s voice whispers in her ears, and she looks at her classmates with quiet suspicion. The entire time, fear and panic swirl in her veins, and no matter what her peers or her teacher does, she doesn’t say a word. Her Mama told her to be quiet, after all, and Tsunako is so very good at doing whatever keeps her safe.

She rarely speaks again.

* * *

  
  


Tsunako’s always been smart and good at listening. She spends countless hours, after all, listening to that soft voice in her head that tells her to _avoid this road, walk faster, don’t look back, be quiet, don’t provoke Mama, put your head down_. It keeps her from angering anyone, keeps her from making mistakes. Tsunako hasn’t made a mistake yet, and their house is in a fragile state of peace. Even if her Mama has never hurt her before, it still feels as if the calm before the storm. She can only imagine what would happen to her if she disobeyed.

She remembers those dull brown eyes, gleaming whenever her Mama catches sight of her face.

So when her Mama sits by her bedside when she retires for the night, murmuring soft warnings and rules and lessons on how to behave, how to act, how to _live,_ she listens, and obeys.

The rules are:

  1. Be quiet.
  2. Don’t speak unless needed.
  3. Don’t smile.
  4. Don’t laugh. 
  5. Don’t cry.
  6. Don’t attract attention.
  7. Don’t look people in the eye, don’t don’t _don’t_.



Her eyes grow as dull as her Mama’s, but there is a fire inside her telling her to keep going, to keep quiet, to _bide her time_.

She tries not to focus on the voice when it says stuff like that, because it gives her hope that these unnatural, terror-filled days will _end_ someday, but she can't quite help herself. So instead, she focuses with a single-minded determination on her burning, primal desire to survive and keep herself safe.

( _Her dying will_ , a voice in her mind whispers late at night, and the embers are set. All that she needs is a spark.)

* * *

  
  


School is just as terrifying as her house (house, because where she lives doesn’t feel like home, not when she tiptoes around and always sticks to the shadows, mouth shut and head bowed-). No matter how quiet she is, how aloof she is to the children who want to touch her foreign blonde hair and play with her, she finds that there are people watching her no matter where she turns.

Tsunako can never quite forget what her Mama told her the night before she started school, saying how they will hurt her because of how she looks, so she does her best to keep her uniform clean and her hair neat. Every night, she examines her reflection, cleaning every inch of her body and brushing her long hair to be as presentable as possible. She doesn’t quite understand why people will hurt her because of how she looks, but then again she also doesn’t understand why her Mama sometimes looks as if she wants to slice Tsunako’s face with a knife.

A mother is supposed to care and love her child unconditionally, and if her Mama isn’t like that at all, then how much more the people outside who bear no relations to her?

So whenever someone approaches her with intent, she makes sure to rebuff them as politely and as quietly as possible. She doesn’t know when they will hurt her, after all, and Tsunako has always been good at keeping things that are dangerous at arm's length.

Soon enough, the entire school knows to just watch her from a distance, but Tsunako still feels the pressure of the multitude of eyes following her every move beginning to suffocate her like black smoke.

* * *

  
  


When her Papa finally returns when she turns ten, with an older man who looks at her curiously, she has to bite back a plea for her Papa to save her. Her Mama has been a lot harsher lately, because even Tsunako can see how much attention she draws whenever she accompanies her Mama for grocery shopping. Maybe it is because she is getting older, her body filling out and lengthening, and that is why people’s eyes flick back to her even after they had already looked away.

Her Mama still smiles at her, still talks gently with that fake cheer, but it cannot hide the arctic steel in her brown eyes. Her Mama hates it when Tsunako attracts attention, hates it when people compliment her looks, hates it when Tsunako is _seen_. Nowadays, Tsunako barely breathes in her presence, and she always, _always_ , obeys whatever her Mama commands.

Even when her Mama makes her kneel in seiza for hours, reciting and repeating her _rules_ until her jaw aches and her legs tremble, she obeys. Tsunako has too much drive to keep herself safe not to.

She repeats:

  1. Be quiet.
  2. Don’t speak unless needed.
  3. Don’t smile.
  4. Don’t laugh. 
  5. Don’t cry.
  6. Don’t attract attention.
  7. Don’t look people in the eye, don’t don’t _don’t_.



Tsunako knows that she is supposed to be good, to be quiet, to not draw attention to herself, so she just stares dully at the floor even when she wants to fling herself into her Papa’s arms and cry.

She knows that her Papa is strong, that there are untold horrors lurking in him, but his gold eyes never look as cold as her Mama’s. Her Papa is strong, and can probably break her bones and makes her _bleed_ , but she knows that he won’t. Not like how everyone outside their house can, not like how her Mama can.

But the thing is, she knew her Papa was strong because of the feel of his muscled arms, the confidence that straightens his back, but she didn’t realize that her Papa was smart too. So she doesn’t realize that her Papa looks at her hunched shoulders, at the tiny flinches whenever her Mama enters the room, at the way she always makes sure to keep a table or a chair or anything in between her and her Mama. She doesn’t see the tight jaw of her Papa, the twitching fingers, the look he exchanges with his boss.

So when his boss- _call me Grandpa, little one_ \- asks her Mama to accompany him to shop for some essentials and leaves them alone in the house, she doesn’t realize just how _angry_ her Papa is. But he is, oh _god_ he is, and she has spent her entire life reading the emotions off her Mama’s face, but never has she seen this on her Papa.

She is suddenly aware of his strength, of his large hands, and when she blinks up at him, instead of seeing her Papa who calls her beautiful, she sees someone _dangerous_.

But when he takes a step closer to her, the voice in her mind tingles, telling her to trust him, that this is her chance, that she can escape, finally, her Mama isn’t here to tell her to obey the rules-

The voice has never steered her wrong before, and Tsunako is not about to discount it now.

Her Papa kneels down in front of her, still so very angry, but his movements are gentle to keep from startling her. Even as fire burns in his gold eyes, he telegraphs his movements, makes them slow and easy to avoid, and just that kindness makes tears well up in her eyes.

( _Now now now, do it with your dying will-)_

And for the first time in years, Tsunako speaks her mind.

“Please Papa don’t leave me here, please,” she begs, and for a second she feels like she’s three years old again saying goodbye to her Papa for the first time and watching him walk away. But then warmth surrounds her as her Papa draws her into a hug, and she freezes at the contact.

Her Mama doesn’t touch her like this, doesn’t hold her like she’s something precious. Her Mama touches her in the dark of her room as she tells her of the rules Tsunako has to follow, and sometimes she grabs onto Tsunako’s hands or arms too tight whenever they’re outside, but never like this. It’s different. Her Mama touches her like Tsunako is going to break into a million pieces if she pushes hard enough, and sometimes Tsunako thinks that that’s the only reason why her Mama hasn’t hit her yet or drawn blood. If her Mama raised a hand against her, she’ll get hurt as well from Tsunako’s jagged edges.

But her Papa holds her differently. Even as he hugs her like she’s fragile, he clutches at her desperately as if she’s going to disappear before his eyes. He touches her like he loves her, and Tsunako feels her tears overflow for the very first time in a long time.

Sobbing quietly, because even if her Mama isn’t around, she has spent years staying _silent_ , she grips her Papa’s shirt just as desperately.

He doesn’t hush her, doesn’t tell her to stop crying (don’t cry, that is rule number five, and she’s breaking it now but her Mama isn’t here); he just holds her until her tears slow and finally dry. When she isn’t shaking with sobs anymore, he carefully pulls back to tilt her chin up to observe her face. Just as carefully, she meets his eyes (don’t look people in the eye, that is rule number seven, but the voice in her head tells her that it is _important_ for her Papa to see her eyes, to see exactly what has been going on in his absence) and exhales softly.

His eyes are liquid gold, like a dragon’s rage when protecting its hoard, and when he asks what her Mama has been doing to her, she looks him straight in the eye and tells the truth.

Tsunako is smart, and very good at reading people. So even if she knows that logically, her Mama hasn’t even hit her, hasn’t even called her names or said scathing words, she knows that her Papa will understand just why Tsunako has always been so afraid of her Mama.

By the end of it, her already soft voice fades into a whisper and her Papa’s face is _cold cold cold._ For a second she freezes again, but she realizes then that the iciness in the lines of his face isn’t directed towards her, not like how her Mama looks at her, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn’t know what she would do if her Papa turned out to be like her Mama; if he was, then that meant that she is all alone with no one to trust and that everyone is an enemy.

She has survived ten years of that mentality, but it was exhausting staying in a constant state of awareness, always checking for danger and always, _always_ on edge. Now though, the emotion she feels at the sight of her Papa being angry _for_ her instead of _at_ her feels remarkably like the hope she had kept buried under her skin.

“I’ll kill her,” he tells her, voice tight and repressed, and Tsunako wonders why she doesn’t feel that spark of fear every time someone comes too close. ( _Because Papa is like us_ , the voice whispers, telling her to watch Papa's burning, burning, _burning_ eyes. _One day, we'll have the same eyes_ , it says, and Tsunako shivers.)

Still, she knows that killing people is illegal, and everyone knows that doing illegal things can land you in jail. Her Papa is the only thing she has left in this world, and if he gets imprisoned, she will be all alone. 

Just like before. 

Already she’s broken about five of the rules her Mama has forced into her skull, and she cannot go back to that life of numbing terror that kept her pliant and silent, like a half-hidden doll. Like she wasn’t _human_.

She is already shaking her head frantically, her fingers gripping his shirt as if to keep him from going out and hunting her Mama.

“No Papa you can’t leave me you can’t, please, let’s just leave, Papa-” she babbles, her words dripping out of her lips madly as her tongue feels too big for her mouth. She can see the conflicting emotions in those gold eyes, and can see her Papa warring between retribution and protection, but as he looks longer at her tiny fingers holding onto him like he is her only salvation, he sighs and hoists her up in his arms as he stands.

Instinctively, she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face into his shoulder. “Please Papa,” she whispers one last time, and it is only because she is clinging to him so tightly that she feels the minute nod of his head. Her limbs go boneless at that, and the entire weight of the situation suddenly hitting her almost makes her pass out.

The arms holding her tighten slightly when she sags, and she feels the brush of lips against her hair.

“You did enough, kiddo, let me handle the rest. We’ll be on a plane to Italy by the end of the day, so sleep.”

And because Tsunako has always been good at obeying, she does.

* * *

  
  


When he returned to Namimori after seven long years of staying away (the famiglia was too unstable, too volatile for him to leave, to even trust the delicate, internal handlings of CEDEF to his guardians- after all, there has to be _spies_ in his precious organization, how else did three heirs die one after the other, and fuck, he can’t risk tipping off their enemies to his _civilian_ family), he had expected a tense, but enjoyable visit with his lovely wife and even lovelier daughter. He still remembers the stilted smiles on Nana when he returned seven years ago, so he knows that it’s possible she might be even more frustrated with him now.

But even if Nono had insisted on accompanying him now, he was adamant to enjoy this small vacation. This would be the last time he sees his daughter as a civilian, after all.

Enrico Vongola was dead, his body shot and riddled with so many bullets it was a wonder they had anything left to bury. Massimo had been drowned, and had had to be fished out of the river even as a few of his more innocent agents flinched at the bloated and bruised flesh of the Vongola middle child. Federico’s body was never found, but they knew he was gone. No one could have survived that explosion. His guardians sure didn’t.

Three heirs dead and three possible Decimos gone. Xanxus is the only one left of the Ninth’s sons, but he wasn’t even a true blooded one. When Timoteo had confided in him about that, about the lies and the adoption and the burnt paper trail, Iemitsu had raged and raged, and when Xanxus had started a coup, he had almost been tempted to join in.

Because if Xanxus wasn’t a candidate for Decimo, there was only one more person left.

His daughter, his sweet little summer moon.

And by god did he want to raze Vongola to the ground before they got their bloody, greedy hands on her. But Iemitsu has been loyal for twenty-eight years, and that kind of bond is hard to break. Iemitsu loves his family, loves Tsunako so fucking much that he would kill anyone who hurt her, but even he cannot take on an entire famiglia on his own. If he dies, Tsunako will be left stranded, a civilian girl left for easy pickings by the vultures in the Mafia.

And even if he tries not to think about it, he knows that he will weep if he has to slaughter the people he has worked with for more than two decades. Vongola has been his Family all these years after all.

So he bides his time, agrees to Timoteo’s “suggestion” to reconnect with his daughter and slowly bring her into the fold while she is young. He keeps his cool, keeps his cheer, even as he sharpens his weapons and hides his canines with a smile. Even when Timoteo inserts himself into his plans, laughing gaily and saying that he merely wanted to meet the future of Vongola in a relaxed setting, he breathes through it all because if Tsunako is to be Decima, she will need all the allies she can get. And the word of Nono is strong still.

But never did he think that his civilian daughter would not be safe, or innocent. He had foolishly thought that she would be far away from the horrors of this world in sleepy Namimori, but he should have known that nothing can stay innocent.

Quickly, he makes phone calls to his men, to prepare a room for her in the most secure wing of the Vongola mansion, to handle her paperwork, to redirect his schedule and run interference. He packs her bags, eyeing her room critically for things that are well-worn and well-used, things that his daughter will find comfort in. Everything else he can buy.

What he finds are a couple of soft brown sweaters and a small stuffed lion, hidden under her bed as if she did not need soothing, as if she was not a child who had lived ten years in a house terrified of her own mother.

The rage builds in Iemitsu, quickly and violently, and he breathes deeply to keep from lashing out. Tsunako doesn’t even have any clips or accessories, and all her clothes are spartan and dull. All to keep her from standing out, to keep her down and broken and _silent_.

Never before has he felt the need to drive his hand through a person’s chest and rip out their heart so badly.

When his daughter’s pitiful belongings are packed, he quickly bundles her into a fuzzy blanket and into the waiting limo that they had rented. Around him, the two of the Ninth’s guardians who had remained behind to guard the house exchange glances, wondering about his blank expression and the rage that they can all feel from his flames.

Taking another deep breath, he forcefully pulls back his roiling, furious flames and shoots Visconti and Ganauche III a smile.

“Maa,” he starts, grinning with too many teeth, “there’s been a slight change of plans. We’re going back to Italy tonight, and I’m taking my darling little Tsunako with me.”

Visconti hums, tapping his finger against his crossed arms as he looks between the car and Iemitsu’s face. Ganauche III is the one that breaks the silence, sighing loudly and leaning back against the wall surrounding the property.

“Is the kid okay?” he asks, face carefully neutral.

Because they are all mafia, and they know all about the filth and monstrosity of human beings. Because they were supposed to stay in Namimori for a week, but then the Ninth had left the house within an hour with the civilian wife in tow, leaving the Young Lion with his cub in a house that was suddenly filled with raging sky flames. Because the lightning guardian knows Timoteo like the back of his hand, and the man had looked at the woman with disgust even as he played as a doddering old grandfather. Because Iemitsu looks like he is about to tear the throats of anyone who comes near his child.

Sky flames spike, murderous intent bathing the street before the man gets his flames under control.

With a clenched jaw, Iemitsu smiles once more. “My cute little Tsunako is a lot stronger than you would think, even if she looks so delicate and precious,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone, and the two guardians exchange a glance once more before settling in to wait.

* * *

  
  


When Nana, Timoteo, and the man’s other guardians return, Iemitsu has to take another deep breath to keep the ire off his face. From the way the older man looks at him, he thinks that he doesn’t succeed.

What a shame.

Pushing himself away from the gate he’s been leaning on, he nods at the man and looks away at the tightening of his boss’ eyes at the confirmation, before facing his wife.

God, how could he have been so stupid to not see what a monster he had married? He’s killed countless people, destroyed hundreds of homes, but what Nana had done makes him feel sick.

“Nana, I’m taking Tsunako with me,” he says simply, because if he says anything more he won’t be able to stop from screaming and yelling at her. His flames push at him to wrap his hands around her throat, a throat that he has kissed and sucked and worshipped, and squeeze until the blood vessels in her eyes burst, until she shudders in his grasp and dies, but Tsunako has asked him to not murder this woman.

For his daughter, he will let Nana live.

Brown eyes- eyes that he had been drawn to, before, but now only fill him with fury- sharpen at that, and he is hard-pressed not to laugh at how suddenly she doesn’t seem like the ditzy civilian he had married. He had been such a fool.

She tilts her head to take in the stiff postures of the men surrounding her, and lifts a hand to cover her mouth as she smiles. “Ara, how wonderful, a vacation! My little summer moon will love that,” she says lightly, and Iemitsu has to close his eyes briefly at the nonchalant way she claimed ownership of his daughter, as if she had any right after how she _chained and muzzled_ Tsunako.

Tension skyrockets between the group, and familiar sky flames brush insistently against his. He opens his eyes at the feeling to see Timoteo raising an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he needed to take a break from this confrontation. Subtly, he shakes his head because if there is one thing he knows, a clean break is always the best.

“No, she will be living with me now and you will relinquish full custody to me. You will never see her again,” he says, relaxing his stiff shoulders and finally smiling at the wary and fearful look in her eyes. “Don’t try to argue, she’ll be better off with me,” he continues, interrupting her when she opens her mouth to speak.

Her eyes sweep over him once, twice, before looking at the rest of his party, before forcing a happy expression on her face. From the way her gaze darts around, he knows she’s beginning to feel like a cornered mouse, and he almost bares his teeth.

“Okay, dear,” she agrees a bit shakily, but overall she looks poised and delighted. Really, he must have been blind to not notice her masks. But then again, he only saw her a few days a month when they first started dating, and even less than that after they got married after half a year. Back then, he had been too enamored by her pretty looks and her general innocence, at how very civilian she was. For a man who had lived and breathed waste and gore and death for years, she had been a welcome respite. She had been an ideal, a resting harbor in the sea of blood.

But thinking back on their few dates, the same masks she wears now was present even then and he bites back a curse. Hindsight, indeed.

Without further ado, he gestures towards the car and the Ninth spares a brief nod to the woman before entering. The rest of the guardians all file in, leaving Iemitsu with her, and as he looks at her one last time, he allows his hatred to show on his face. From the visible flinch and the hitch in her breath, he must have terrified her.

Good. He finally sneers at her, before entering the car and pulling the door close behind him, leaving her standing lost in front of the house she had spent years terrorizing his daughter in.

The ride to the airport is silent, and he spends it brushing back Tsunako’s blonde hair and feasting his eyes on her delicate features. For years he has stayed away, thinking that that would keep her safe from assassins, but instead, he had allowed another, more insidious evil to come close enough to choke her.

He can only hope that he can counteract that woman’s indoctrination, because a broken, subservient girl cannot survive in their world.

* * *

  
  


The Ninth watches him as the private plane takes off, and he tries to keep the monster in his chest screaming for vengeance and death from his face. He looks at his sleeping daughter instead, who hasn’t woken at all since she passed out in his arms earlier, and if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, he would think she was dead.

She must have been so relieved, to be taken away from that toxic place. Has she ever even slept fitfully in that house, or had she been scared out of her mind for ten years?

Sighing, he rubs his face. A clink of ice in a glass makes him look up, and he sees Coyote hand him and their boss a glass of whiskey each. With a smile that feels more like a pained grimace, he takes the glass and downs the liquor straight.

Timoteo waits patiently for him to take another deep breath, before speaking.

“While I am not adverse to young Tsunako being raised and trained in Italy, there must be a reason why you vehemently decided to take her away.”

It is a statement, but they can all hear the hidden question in it. The rest of Timoteo’s guardians shift in their seats, taking a glance at the child lying in the seat next to him.

Biting back a snarl as he remembers the rules Nana had forced Tsunako to embody, he sets the glass down before he crushes it in his hand.

“She tried to keep a Sky chained down, like an _animal._ That woman indoctrinated Tsunako since she was a fucking toddler, telling her to be quiet and hide herself. She made fucking rules, telling my child not to _cry_ , not to _smile_ , not to _laugh,_ not to _fucking talk_ because it will attract attention. That bitch made sure that Tsunako was isolated all her life, ensured that Tsunako couldn’t reach out to others and even make friends. All of Tsunako’s clothes were dark and grey, and her room didn’t even have any color. The only toy I could find was a scruffy lion hidden under her bed.”

The faces of the men around him are still, and carved from stone. They are mafia yes, and the rules might not sound harsh to them who wear masks of faux congeniality or of eerie blankness while working, but they are grown men who have willingly devoted their lives to organized crime. For a child, a civilian one at that, to be repressed like that, especially a Sky? There is absolutely no reason for a little girl to be so caged. And to even order a Sky to follow their morals, like a slave, when the Sky is the one that is supposed to lead? To keep a Sky away from forming bonds, from companionship? When that is the core of a Sky, the core of who they are? 

An Element may live without a Sky, may even thrive, but a Sky cannot be alone. Their flames push and push them to reach out, and a lonely Sky is a terrible thing to behold.

Suddenly they understand why Iemitsu is so murderous. Nana had effectively kept Tsunako imprisoned in her own skin.

“And that woman had the gall to make my daughter distrust everyone. She told her, every night, that people will hurt her because of her looks, that she can expect nothing but pain from everyone. And do you know the worst part?” he laughs without humor, malice and hatred twisting his face. “Tsunako has the strongest intuition I’ve ever seen.”

Timoteo’s eyes widen, and Coyote curses softly under his breath. Visconti, Brabanter, and Brow Nie blink, eyebrows furrowed at that revelation, and Iemitsu can read the confusion on most of the guardian’s face.

Ganauche III looks at him with concealed worry, and he tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“It means that for ten years, my baby daughter had to deal with her intuition telling her that her own fucking mother was going to hurt her, that she was in danger, even in the safety of our house. It means that she learned, from a very young age, to stay away from the kitchen when Nana was cooking, because she told me the voice in her head told her that knives in that bitch’s hands were _dangerous_ . Because her intuition warned her she wasn’t safe, because Nana was so fucking messed up that my daughter told me that Nana looked at her and looked like she wanted to _cut my baby’s face open._ ”

By the end of his rant, he has to work to pull his flames under his skin, to keep himself from bursting into Hyper Dying Will Mode and rushing back to Namimori to rip the bitch’s limbs off one by one until she realizes exactly how much pain and fear she has caused.

Because Tsunako had crumpled in his arms, had looked at him like she had spent years in a prison, and god he cannot imagine ten years of feeling constantly hunted, constantly terrified, because the one place she was supposed to be safe also housed the monster that made her feel such raw fear. Even mafioso like them had safe houses, had allies to keep themselves from working themselves into an early grave from paranoia.

His ten-year-old daughter had _none_.

“Papa?”

He stills, turning his head so fast he gives himself whiplash, and sees his daughter pushing herself up, eyes wary and sweeping over the cabin for an exit. It makes a lump rise in his throat, at the way she held herself like she expected to be attacked even with him by her side, and he realizes just how lucky he was that she trusted him enough to ask for help.

If she didn’t trust him enough, he doubts that she would have told him exactly what that woman had done to her.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out, watching her eyes to see if she didn’t want him to touch her. Tsunako has had enough people trying to control what she could feel. But her eyes don’t narrow, and she doesn’t flinch away from his hands once she sees how slow he’s going, and lets him draw her onto his lap.

Tsunako melts into his embrace and grips his shirt like she can’t believe this is real, so fucking touch-starved, and it just makes him want to kill Nana even more. But Tsunako does not need his rage, does not need whatever vengeance he can extract for her. She needs a parent, one that would comfort her and reassure her and make her feel safe.

“Hey there kiddo,” he murmurs, smoothing her hair away from her tiny face. Her amber eyes flick up to look at him, before returning to her almost obsessive scan of her surroundings. He withholds a sigh before nudging her gently and pointing out the people around them. He doubts that she’ll feel safe if she doesn’t know who they are, even with him here.

“I’d like to introduce you to a few of my friends, sweetheart, can I do that?”

They all watch how she swallows, fingers trembling at the attention, before ducking her head in a shallow nod. While Iemitsu might not have a strong intuition like his daughter and the Ninth, he can guess that she’s still too terrified to talk.

“Alright, well you met your grandpa earlier today,” Iemitsu begins, watching how the older man smiles softly at her, before gesturing vaguely to the others. “The one with the blonde hair is Coyote Nougat, the guy sitting next to him is Brown Nie Jr., and across them is Brabanter Schnitten. In that aisle over there, with the brown and white hair is Ganauche III and next to him is the old man Visconti.”

He pauses for a moment when he sees how his daughter stills on his lap, and follows her gaze to Schnitten. Lowering his head, he asks, “What is it, baby? What is the little voice in your head saying kiddo?”

Timoteo’s eyes sharpen at his words, and he leans forward subtly to study Tsunako. In the state that he is in, it takes everything in him to not snarl and hide her away from that gaze when Tsunako clears her throat softly, tightening her grip on his shirt.

“... his face,” she mumbles, and he blinks at her answer before she continues. “Mama wanted to make my face like his.”

The sudden, all-encompassing rage makes him see red for a second, before heavy Rain flames smack him in the face and forcefully calms him down. His daughter is looking up at him with wide eyes, surprise in every line and curve of her expression, and he shakes his head a little to clear it. “Sorry kiddo, I got lost in thought.”

Over her head, Brabanter gives him a reproving look for his temper, and he grimaces in apology. The man clears his throat to capture his daughter’s attention, and reaches up to touch the multitude of scars marring his face.

“Little one,” he begins gravely, “these scars were given to me by my enemies. Each of these tells a story, a story wherein someone came to fight me and lost. And for every single person who managed to wound me and scar me, I have given them back the same hurt tenfold.”

Tsunako peers up at him from under her lashes, her face blank as she thinks. For a moment, the only sound is the whir of the propellers, before she bites her lip.

“But Mama hasn’t hurt me like that yet,” she whispers, and it is only because of the ambient Rain flames saturating the cabin that keeps the growl off his face. That bitch didn’t deserve to be called ‘Mama’.

The Rain guardian shakes his head a little. “Not every hurt is physical,” he intones, and Tsunako flinches at the insinuation, before glancing up at him and taking strength.

“Mama was sad and angry all the time, and she scared me,” she confides, her tone so, so young and confused. Iemitsu has to work to keep his body from tensing, from startling his daughter with his unadulterated rage once again. She continues, voice still soft, still raspy from the years of being forced into silence. “She hurt me, here-” her small hand twitches and presses against her chest, and Iemitsu feels a corresponding ache in his heart at his daughter’s words, “- but I’m not big enough to hurt her back.”

A smile catches his eyes, and Timoteo leans even more forward, eyes crinkling with amusement. “And you would like to hurt her back, as you say, little one? Your Papa said that you didn’t want her dead.”

And it’s too early for Tsunako to be exposed to death, to talk about revenge and _an eye for an eye_ with experienced Mafioso, but she surprises him when she merely leans back into his chest and her heart rate doesn’t spike.

“Cause Papa might end up in jail if he does and I can’t lose Papa. Papa is mine,” she whispers, but there is a steel edge in her tone that makes Iemitsu’s breath catch. It is the growl of a cornered animal, not quite carnivore and not quite prey, but a feral cub who adapts to the punches and _survives_. He isn’t quite sure why he is so dumbfounded, because Tsunako had survived ten years of the psychological torture and abuse so she is strong, so much stronger than she would be if she had just been _safe_ , but for a moment he sees the woman that she will grow into. For a moment, he sees the Vongola Decima, all sinew and grace as she stands her ground and molds the world to her liking.

And looking up at Timoteo’s widened eyes, he sees it too.

* * *

  
  


She wakes and her intuition cautions her, tells her to keep her body pliant and her eyes closed. Tsunako has done this countless times, has faked sleep so that her Mama will stop talking about how everyone will hurt her, ruin her, break her, so she’s not surprised when the voices she hears don’t stop talking.

After a moment, she realizes that it’s her Papa talking, and his voice is so enraged it sends shivers down her spine. And after another moment, she realizes that she doesn’t feel the same terror she would have felt if it was her Mama that was this livid, and she wordlessly thanks the voice in her head that pushed her to trust her Papa to keep her safe.

It doesn’t reply, of course, because it only perks up when she’s in danger or when something is wrong, but she feels a bubbling warmth in her chest all the same. With that, she pushes herself up and alerts her Papa that she’s awake. But then she stiffens, because there are a lot more people than she thought; her Papa is beside her and the old man who said he was her Grandpa (a distant relation, the voice in her head corrects) is across them, but there are five other men who she doesn’t know. Men who feel dangerous, who move like their bodies are weapons. Her intuition tells her that they are killers, but it remarkably doesn’t tell her to escape or hide.

She wonders if that means that they won’t kill her, wonders if that means that her Mama was _wrong wrong wrong_. If murderers didn’t want to hurt her, then does that mean that regular people won’t either? Does that mean that her Mama was a liar?

Her Papa quickly soothes her worry by introducing them, and a part of her wonders if her Papa also has a voice in his head that tells him what to do when she catches sight of the man with four large scars on his face. Two scars criss-cross on his right cheek, and one slashes vertically across the left side of his lips while a diagonal scar runs across the bridge of his nose.

The man explains that he had hurt the people who had hurt him, and she cannot keep her mind from racing. It’s such a ludicrous concept, and it had never occurred to her to _hurt the people who hurt her back._ All her life she had stuck to the shadows, stitched her lips closed, and laid down with her belly up to seem harmless. She thought that the only reaction to a threat was to fade into the background, to be meek, and quiet.

For years that is what her Mama has taught her, but then again, she’s learning now that her Mama wasn’t exactly the most truthful person. Her Mama is a _liar liar liar liar liar liar-_

The thought of fighting back, of making the people who hurt her _bleed_ , makes something like longing ache in her chest. She remembers the gleam in her Mama’s eyes, remembers the glint of the knife in her hand, remembers the dark of her room as her Mama whispered words of poison meant to frighten her, to scare her into submission.

And now they are telling her that she could have said _no,_ could have _fought back._

In that split moment, she makes a decision. She has lived ten years scared, just trying to survive. No more.

“When I’m bigger I’ll hurt her back,” she decides, settling in her Papa’s lap and breathing in his scent. Her Mama had always made sure that the soaps and shampoos she used were scentless, to keep her from standing out even more. But Papa smells like fire and ash and spice, and that just reminds her that she’s not with her Mama anymore.

When the men around her laugh at her bold statement, she almost flinches out of habit but the voice in her mind tells her that the laughter isn’t malicious, isn’t mocking. No; when she looks closer at them, she sees approval and amusement, and her Grandpa is looking at her with something like pride.

She might not know her Papa very well, might not know what her Grandpa wants with her (because the voice in her head is telling her that he does want something from her, that he came to Namimori for _her)_ , but still, she feels remarkably lighter than ever before.

She’s _free_. Away from her Mama and her rules, away from that too-big house with the strained silences and dark shadows, away from those sharp knives and even sharper eyes.

Free. And quietly, she decides that she won’t be chained, _never again_.

In the corner of her eyes, orange finally bleeds into her vision as Tsunako smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Omg. I wanted to write a fluffy one-shot about a pretty Tsuna and this came out wtf brain. This is like the 34141st edit you guys, because the first few ones I wrote were pretty... insane. And I didn't want to go into too much detail about how Nana brainwashed Tsuna because it kept me up at night and I scared myself. So this is the more friendly version haha.
> 
> When I finished this, I wanted to continue on with Tsuna's recovery and training in Italy, but after a few days I lost inspiration so this is all I have for you guys. Till next time!


End file.
